


Conquest

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-12 22:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16880709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "It’s late by the time Iskandar makes it back to his tent." After the satisfaction of a victory on the battlefield, Iskandar comes back to lay claim to a more private triumph.





	Conquest

It’s late by the time Iskandar makes it back to his tent.

It has been a busy evening. The days during a campaign are always hectic, full of strategic decisions and tactical changes and chaos on and off the battlefield alike; for the last several weeks Iskandar has spent his evenings discussing plans for the next day, sometimes into the first few hours of that same. But today’s victory brought different and far more pleasant demands on his time in the form of hours of celebration and cheers and congratulations offered from king to subjects and commander to troops and man to man, as Iskandar made his way through the expanse of the camp to sit and drink and celebrate with those who have followed him so loyally and with such enthusiasm. By the time he has completed his circle of the camp many of the men have retired to their own beds, or have fallen asleep in snoring heaps alongside the crackling of dying campfires, and Iskandar is left to make his way to the glow of his own expansive tent in silence but for the soft murmur of the sleeping army around him.

The lanterns are still lit, he sees as he approaches, their glow illuminating the walls of the tent with a warm light as if to urge visitors in to the comforts within, but when Iskandar pushes the tent flap aside and ducks to step into the expanse of the space that serves as his headquarters as much as his bed there is no one left awake to tend them. The table set up at one side of the room is strewn with maps and notes and sketches, the evidence of the effort and planning that have paid into their victory today, but the generals and advisors that have leaned over it on previous nights are absent, now, returned to their own tents and the sleep they have all indebted themselves to over the last several days. Iskandar dismissed the pair of men who act as his servants with the beginning of the celebration, leaving them free to find their own comforts as they will; and that just leaves one other occupant of the tent, along the far side where a heap of blankets make a bed lush enough for even a king such as Iskandar.

Waver is utterly asleep, Iskandar sees as he comes forward to the middle of the tent. He has a book in his hands, another one of his references for strategy that he consumes with as much focus as if the words are like to change between his regular readings, but his grip has gone slack and the weight of the text is lying atop the blankets where exhaustion slumped him as well. His long hair is spread out around him, its usual strict tidiness set free by his own unconsciousness to spill to artistic grace around his bare shoulders and over the bed; he has a blanket tangled around his legs atop the leggings that he habitually wears to bed, in spite of all Iskandar’s protests to the lack of necessity of such.

Iskandar watches the other as he unbuckles the fastenings on his breastplate and slides it free of his chest to set aside at the corner of the tent, as he unclasps his cloak to slip in into the same heap; his boots come off as well, and the heavy weight of the pants he has worn close against his skin for the whole of the battle-weary day. By the time he’s stripped himself down to comfort he’s in just underwear and the clinging lightness of his undershirt, and by then he’s spent enough time considering the curl of Waver’s loose hair against the blankets and the part of the other’s lips on his sleeping breathing that impatience is winning out over calm. Iskandar peels his shirt up and over his head, drawing it free of his hair to cast aside without looking to see where it lands, and he steps in across the floor of the tent to cast the flicker of his lamplit shadow over Waver before him.

Iskandar doesn’t speak to wake the other. He drops closer instead, leaning in to take a knee at the edge of the bed made of a thick bedroll and the heap of blankets atop it, and when he tips forward it’s to brace his hand behind Waver’s curving shoulders to steady himself. He slides his other hand between the pages of the book in Waver’s lingering hold, gripping the place as he slides it up and free, and beneath him Waver stirs with the movement, lashes fluttering as his shoulders tense and his grip tightens.

“No,” he mumbles. “I’ll lose my place.”

“I have it marked,” Iskandar soothes. “It will keep to the morning.” Waver turns his head to frown up at Iskandar over him, his forehead creasing even as his eyes struggle for recognition; Iskandar smiles at him before he draws the book up and free of the other’s hold. The book goes alongside the bed, Iskandar reaches to catch at the dropped ribbon of the bookmark and lay it into place, and he closes the cover with a sense of finality to the thud of the weight shutting over the distraction of the words.

“You were gone so long,” Waver says. He still sounds drowsy, the weight of sleep is slurring on his consonants and warm in the back of his throat, but there’s the start of petulance at the set of his mouth, a trace of something like hurt creasing his forehead as he turns his head to look up at Iskandar. “I thought you might stay out all night.”

Iskandar shakes his head. “Never,” he says, and reaches to press his hand to the side of Waver’s face so he can stroke a stray lock of hair back over the other’s ear. Waver tips into the contact, leaning in against Iskandar’s touch like he’s being urged into it, and Iskandar smiles to see the motion. “A victory cannot be complete without the celebration of our continued existence.”

Waver scoffs disdain. “You just get horny when you win a battle.”

“Mm,” Iskandar rumbles in the back of his throat, and draws his hand down the side of Waver’s face to clasp against the side of his neck. “There is that, as well.” He ducks in close, pressing nearer to Waver beneath him so he can touch his lips to the rhythm of the other’s sleep-slow pulse at his neck; close as he is, he can feel the pressure of a strained breath in Waver’s throat even if the moan goes too quiet to be heard. Iskandar kisses against Waver’s skin again, with more intent this time, lingering over the suggestion of salt-sweat at the other’s neck and finding traces of spicy scent from the loose fall of his hair beneath him, and Waver shifts to turn over onto his back and reach up for Iskandar over him.

“You kept me waiting,” Waver says, although the criticism on the words is greatly softened by the heat in his throat and the way he’s shifting under Iskandar to draw his hips into alignment beneath the shadow of the other’s body. “What if I didn’t want to wait up for you?”

“I did make you wait,” Iskandar says, letting the words purr warmth over Waver’s skin. “I do apologize for that.” He fits another kiss to the muscle along Waver’s shoulder; the drag of his beard over the other’s collarbone makes Waver tense and hiss as Iskandar shifts. “Would you have preferred I came to you fresh off the field?” He slides his hand down Waver’s neck, rising up over the curve of his shoulder and across to draw over the other’s bare chest and against the ticklish curve of his ribs before pursuing the tight-laced waistband of his leggings. “I could have spent myself on you at once.”

“You would have just wanted more later,” Waver sighs, without even trying to find the drag of true frustration in his throat. “I would have had to wake up anyway.”

“But you would have been satisfied first.” Iskandar’s fingers catch at the edge of Waver’s waistband and slide across to tug open the laces at the front. The thin fabric is straining under his touch, pulled taut with evidence of his lover’s desire; Iskandar presses his palm down to stroke Waver’s length through the cloth for a moment, humming satisfaction in the back of his throat at the solid heat urging up against his hand. “Next time I shall take you within the first hour of our return.”

Waver makes a strained sound in the back of his throat, something needy enough that it breaks a grin over Iskandar’s face in reply. His hips jerk up, his body straining to buck into the weight of Iskandar’s hold over him. “I wish you would take me  _ now _ .”

Iskandar groans in the back of his throat, easy voice for the surge of heat that aches in his balls and strains his desire-hardened cock at the front of his underwear. “And so I intend to,” he tells Waver. He presses his mouth into another kiss, this one against the top of Waver’s chest, before he pulls back from the other to rock onto his knees so he can look down at the man laid out before him.

Waver is sprawled over the soft of the blankets, his skin moonlight-pale with long hours in the shade of the tent instead of sun-browned as Iskandar’s own body is. His hair is darker than Iskandar’s own crimson, so saturated it looks almost black against the vivid dyes of the blankets heaped beneath him; in the flicker of the lamplight his eyes are as shadowed, cast into darkness by the vague illumination and the effects of lingering sleep and growing arousal at once. Iskandar gazes at him for a moment, appreciating the delicacy of Waver’s features, the curve of his lips, the slim strength in his arms and spanning down his chest before he comes down to the weight of the pants still covering the length of the other’s legs and the visible strain of his arousal urging Iskandar to action.

Iskandar doesn’t need encouragement. He makes short work of Waver’s laces, unwinding the knot holding the other’s pants closed with a few quick motions, and Waver reacts as quickly as Iskandar moves, bracing his feet at the bed and arching his hips up as Iskandar fits his fingers in under the other’s pants to draw them down and free of Waver’s hips and thighs. They give way easily to his force, slipping free of Waver’s skin to lay him bare for the light and Iskandar’s appreciation at one and the same time, and Iskandar hums in the depths of his chest as Waver brings his knees up to let Iskandar strip him down to bare skin.

“I have been dreaming of having you for hours,” Iskandar confesses, offering the words as he tosses Waver’s pants aside and leans back in over the pale frame beneath his own greater one. Waver spreads his knees apart as he brings his feet back down to span Iskandar’s body, offering the space between his thighs as rapidly as he lifts his arms to wind around Iskandar’s shoulders, and Iskandar accepts both, happy to press his hips down to settle himself in the cradle of Waver’s thighs as he fits his chest close atop the other’s. Waver’s fingers curl into Iskandar’s hair, Waver’s lashes dip on expectation, and Iskandar leans in to offer satisfaction in the form of his lips fitting gentle against Waver’s own. His hand catches at Waver’s hip, his arm flexes to brace them together, and when he rocks his hips up to grind his cock into the space between Waver’s legs Waver groans into Iskandar’s mouth, his throat offering heat for the exploration of Iskandar’s tongue to find and claim as its own. Iskandar licks deeper into Waver’s mouth, tasting the heat of the other’s body on his tongue at the same time he grinds his hips in against the same, and beneath him Waver shudders, drawn taut on sensation and anticipation in nearly equal measures. Iskandar lingers over the pleasure of it, the ache of friction in his cock and the sweet of Waver’s mouth against his own, and then he pulls away to draw a breath deep into his lungs and free a hand to reach up and into the spill of blankets around them.

“You fit so well to me,” Iskandar tells Waver, murmuring the words against the line of the other’s jaw as Waver’s fingers fist into his hair and his own fingers seek and seize the bottle of oil dropped into the weight of their blankets after their last use of the same. “Your mouth, your thighs, your body.” He thumbs the lid loose with one hand, urging it open as he braces himself onto one elbow to free his other hand to catch the spill of the liquid; beneath him Waver gasps for air, his head tipping to follow the wet trickling over Iskandar’s skin to coat the span of his fingers and run over the cup of his palm. Iskandar presses his fingers together, rubbing them against each other to smooth the oil into an even layer as he closes the lid and drops the bottle aside, and then he shifts himself back again, pausing only to urge another lingering kiss to the soft place just under Waver’s chin against the motion of his throat. “Perhaps you were intended for me from the very start.”

“Idiot,” Waver manages, his usual half-meant insult pulled into the heat of almost-endearment on his tongue. “It’s only that you leave me no other choice but to give in.” His words are sharp but his grip is tight; his hands are fisted deep into the weight of Iskandar’s hair, his arms straining as he pulls against the resistance of the other over him. Iskandar draws his hand back to brace himself between Waver’s thighs, steadying his weight before he slides his free hand up and under the flex of expectation in Waver’s leg to hitch him a half-inch off the blankets and tilt his hips into an easier angle for his own access.

“Mm,” Iskandar hums, and touches his wet fingertips against Waver’s taut entrance. The muscle in Waver’s thigh jumps under his palm, flexing on involuntary reaction to the contact, but Waver’s hold tightens instead of urging away, and Iskandar can hear his breathing coming hotter as well. “And it is an overthrow I greatly savor in the taking.” He pushes up, force straining against his arm and shoulder and wrist, and Waver gusts a breath and opens to grant Iskandar access to the tight heat of his body. Iskandar’s finger slides up, the motion made easy on the grace of experience in this most pleasant of exercises, and Waver’s near-empty lungs strain over a moan with no more equivocation than raw heat can offer as Iskandar’s touch fills him.

“Ahh,” Iskandar sighs. “Grant me your surrender, beloved.” And he strokes, back and up again, a long thrust that curls in Waver’s toes and tightens him close against the oil-slick drag of Iskandar’s touch within him. Iskandar can see the way Waver’s cock jerks with the force, can feel the urging of the hands in his hair, but his attention is up, towards Waver’s head canting back against the sheets, where his cheeks are flushing and his lips are parting on that tribute too immediate and wanting to be held back. Iskandar strokes again, feeling Waver easing around him, feeling the heat of their shared desire flowing through his veins and heating at his skin, and when he draws back to urge a second finger alongside the first he tips his head down too to press his lips to the head of Waver’s cock and draw the strain of the other’s length back over his tongue.

Waver’s words are forgotten with the urging of Iskandar’s touch. He has a quick tongue even at the worst of times, ever as ready to offer a verbal blow as Iskandar himself may offer a physical one; but here, like this, with Iskandar’s fingers stroking him into the ease of surrender and his cock throbbing heat within the slick wet of Iskandar’s mouth, he has nothing but that most favorite treasure of all Iskandar claims, the pull of whimpering inhales and the ache of desperate moans that seem to source from somewhere deep within him, urged to release by the joint effort of Iskandar’s pressing fingers and Iskandar’s dragging tongue. Iskandar can taste Waver’s heat at his lips, the slick salt-bitter of spiking arousal coating the friction of his tongue as he trails over the other’s length, and he takes him back farther, tipping his head sideways until his lips press flush to the base of Waver’s cock just over the strain of his balls, until the head of the other’s length is pressing nearly to the shift of Iskandar’s throat as he swallows the mingled saliva and salt filling his mouth. Waver is panting, now, almost sobbing with each breath, and Iskandar can feel the other’s cock pulsing with heat, can feel the surge of want that runs through Waver with each upward stroke of Iskandar’s fingers thrusting into his body. Iskandar lets them linger there for a moment, working Waver to what softness his touch can demand as his lips urge straining heat to fill the whole thickness of the other’s cock; and then he draws an inhale through his nose, and draws up and away from Waver’s length as part of the same motion that slides his fingers back and free from the give of the other’s body.

“ _Ah_ ,” Waver sobs, his voice cracking in his chest as his fingers tighten at Iskandar’s hair, as his arms flex to urge the other back down against the upwards force of his motion. “No, no, I _hate_ you.”

“You do not,” Iskandar tells him, his voice deeper and lower than even the battlefield called from him, smoothed to radiant shadow by the taste of his lover’s pleasure on his tongue and the feel of Waver’s want around his fingers. “It will be better this way.” He hooks his thumb into the line of his underwear and pushes down to shove the clothing off his hips in one motion so he can draw his knees free and up the spill of blankets to brace himself between Waver’s thighs as he leans back in to frame the other’s lean body with the sun-kissed glow of his own nakedness. “I wish you spending yourself to serve as a whet to my own pleasure.”

“ _ Fine _ ,” Waver snaps, and lets one hand go from Iskandar’s hair so he can reach and clutch his fingers into the firm muscle of the other’s buttock and pull to urge Iskandar closer to him. “Come and take what’s yours, then.”

“Yes,” Iskandar agrees. He slides his slick hand between himself and Waver, working to curl his fingers against the straining heat of his length so he can stroke heat up over himself before tightening his grip in against the base to steady himself. He barely has to glance down to align hs body: he knows where he is from the brace of Waver’s thighs around him, from the set of his knees at the bed, from the head of Waver’s cock bumping at his stomach. He looks up instead, raising his attention to meet the other’s dark gaze. The sleep-haze is utterly gone from Waver’s expression now; it’s been swept aside entirely, urged away by the strain of desire Iskandar felt clenching around his fingers and tasted hot on his tongue. His eyes are heavy-lidded, now, his mouth set onto a pout as tempting as it is frustrated, until Iskandar can’t help himself but to smile down at the man before him.

“Ah,” he sighs. “Waver.” He leans down to press his mouth to Waver’s, to taste the set of that pout against the weight of his own lips, and he gives way to the urge of Waver’s hold, thrusting his hips forward to press and take the capitulation of the other’s body in a single long stroke of satisfaction. Waver’s lips open under his, Waver moans a full-throated plea of heat into Iskandar’s mouth, and Iskandar takes, and takes, the sound on Waver’s tongue and the pull of his fingers and the slick of his body giving way to the insistence of Iskandar’s cock penetrating him. Iskandar’s hips come forward, his body presses flush against the clasp of Waver around him, and it’s only as his cock settles within the other that Iskandar draws back enough to gasp a breath and free his hand from the space between them.

“You receive me so willingly,” he says, lowering his hand to close against Waver’s hip and brace the other steady against the slip of the thick blankets beneath them. “I would claim your tribute every hour, if I might.”

“Iskandar,” Waver gasps. His cheeks are flushed dark, now, stained to the same red as his heat-marked mouth; his lashes are heavy over his gaze, his focus scattered somewhere beneath the force of Iskandar’s motion. Iskandar watches Waver’s lashes shift, watches his gaze dip down to track the shape of Iskandar’s mouth, watches his throat work on heat; watches it come back up to meet his own gaze with the dizzy force of intention, now, however pleasure-drunk the other may be.

“My king,” Waver says. He lifts his hand to catch against the other’s neck, to settle both his hands deep into Iskandar’s hair as he lifts his head to turn his face up to the light, to cast his delicate features in the flickering kiss of the lanternlight. “Conquer me.”

Iskandar groans a breath that feels as if he’s emptying the whole of his lungs with one endless exhale. “As you command,” he says, and he braces at Waver’s body, and draws his hips back, and he takes.

There is a rhythm to this, a fluidity as sure and certain as the gallop of a horse, as the tide of a battle, as the weight of a pronouncement. Iskandar can feel the effort in the whole of his body, slicking sweat against his back and cresting in a wave over his shoulders and flexing deep, solid strain in his thighs with every forward thrust he takes. But his own rising swell of pleasure does not go uncontested: because beneath him Waver is moving too, his back arching and his hips shifting and his breath coming with panting force in his chest with every action of them coming together. Iskandar thrusts, and Waver tightens; Waver gasps, and Iskandar groans, strain and release falling into a pattern between them that urges them both on towards their culmination with accelerating haste. The rhythm is not Iskandar’s to command, any more than it is Waver’s to own; it is greater than both of them, formed from the heat of their bodies and the joining between them, until all they can do is be borne forward on its tide towards their inevitable finish.

Iskandar can feel the tension building in Waver. It’s in the tremor in his thighs, in the grip of his fingers, in the catch of his breathing; but more even than that it’s within him, pulsing through the very core of his body to seize around Iskandar as if meaning to strip his release from him in advance of his intended triumph. It would be easy for Iskandar to give in, to buck forward and let his pleasure break over him to drag him down and under; but he promised, and more than that he desires to shatter that strain building in Waver, to feel the tension in his lover’s body give way beneath his own to shudder Waver into a spasm of helpless pleasure around Iskandar’s force. It’s a desire as thrilling as battle, as hot as victory, and it urges Iskandar forward, drawing his own arousal the hotter with every thrust he takes. Beneath him Waver is trembling, clutching to Iskandar as his breathing pulls taut, as his cock strains up from his belly; and then Iskandar’s hips snap forward to sheathe his cock fully in the grip of Waver’s body, and Waver’s eyes roll back, his whole expression going slack on the surge of heat that Iskandar can feel ripple through him. His legs spasm, his breathing breaks, and between them his cock jerks, pulsing with the pleasure spilling heat between them as it courses through Waver’s body.

Iskandar groans in the deepest part of his chest, giving voice to the sound before he can think himself into the intent of it. “Ahh” and he’s leaning forward, his arms flexing to steady him over Waver as his legs strain themselves to expectation. “Beloved, there is nothing so grand as your pleasure.” And he moves, bucking forward to take the quiver of heat in Waver’s body for his own, claiming every tremor of aftershock through the other’s limbs and panting in Waver’s chest for himself as his own arousal mounts, climbing from the strain of his cock and the tension of his balls to surge up his spine in a wave that rises ever higher with each forward thrust of his hips. Waver’s hands are clutching at his hair, Waver’s voice is breaking over shattered, helpless sounds of heat, and Iskandar is on him, over him, in him, filling Waver’s mind and heart and body with his presence. Waver clings to Iskandar, his head turned in to spill the sound at his lips to the line of Iskandar’s neck and his hands pressing close to Iskandar’s hair and the back of his shoulder, and when Waver’s body clenches taut at the base of Iskandar’s cock as if to hold him within Iskandar can feel his release break deep down in his belly, a giving way of restraint that rises up and over him to eclipse even his dominance of himself. His body surges forward, pinning Waver to the blankets as his thighs clench on force, and Iskandar gives way at last, groaning Waver’s name against a pale shoulder as his cock spills his release deep into his lover’s body.

They are slow to move, after, heavy and languid with the pleasure they have claimed between them. Iskandar braces an elbow at the blankets so he can shift himself sideways, at least enough to let the bed take his weight instead of Waver, but Waver keeps his arm around Iskandar’s neck, and when Iskandar turns to the side it’s with a hand low at Waver’s hip to hold their bodies together as long as they may linger. Waver lets his head fall to the blankets beneath them, his eyes shut with the exhaustion of well-spent exertion, and Iskandar is left free to prop his head on his hand and lift his touch to stroke through Waver’s unbound hair and urge the length of it back and free of the other’s face. They lie there in silence for a minute, the quiet unbroken by anything more than the heat-rasped draw of their breathing, and then Iskandar hums in the back of his throat and frames words to his thoughts. “You are very beautiful like this, beloved.”

Waver’s mouth twitches on a smile. “You don’t have to butter me up,” he says before opening an eye to look up at Iskandar over him. “You’ve taken what you wished from me, even you can’t be thinking of the next time already.”

“I have,” Iskandar says with calm contentment. “As you received what you wished from me, did you not?” Waver’s mouth tugs on the quirk of a smile and Iskandar grins down at him.

“They are not only pretty words,” he goes on, and strokes back another strand of Waver’s hair. “Truly, I have never known anyone as beautiful as you.”

Waver scoffs and shuts his eye before turning to nuzzle back down into the blankets. “I thought it doesn’t befit a king to lie.”

Iskandar rocks himself forward, shifting to press his weight against Waver and urge them both back to the bed. Waver’s eyes come open, his expression going slack on surprise, but before he can speak Iskandar is pressing both hands to his face, smoothing the tangle of the other’s hair back from his features as he holds him still for the firm press of his lips to Waver’s own. Waver’s lashes flutter, Waver’s lips part, and Iskandar lets the urging of his mouth work to silence his lover’s opposition. By the time he is finished with him Waver’s cheeks are colored to rosy pink, his breathing is coming ragged in his chest, and his hand is curled back to brace against Iskandar’s hair, as if he’s seeking out a means to steady himself against the force of the other’s kiss at his mouth.

“It is no lie,” Iskandar tells him. “Am I your king?”

Waver’s lashes flutter, his throat works. “You are,” he manages.

“Then believe it.” Iskandar ducks in to kiss Waver again, sliding his hand into the weight of the other’s hair to hold him steady for the force of it. “My dearest subject.”

Waver’s hand settles at the back of Iskandar’s neck. “My beloved king,” he murmurs, the words a promise on his lips, and when Iskandar leans back in Waver turns his head up in offer as quickly.

There is no victory greater than that shared between them.


End file.
